Trying To Deny It All
by Two Things On My Mind
Summary: "Tony...are you listening...?" The voice is clear, resonant. Tony's lashes flutter, like shutters. His eyes flicker. Sometimes its harder then others, to keep a grip on reality. To reign in the constant and semi-dependent constant flow. Tony rubs his temple and he can feel it in the lock of his jaw, that he's got his back against the wall again; a rock and a hard place.


"Tony...are you listening...?" The voice is clear, resonant. Tony's lashes flutter, like shutters. His eyes flicker. Sometimes its harder then others, to keep a grip on reality. To reign in the constant and semi-dependent constant flow. Tony rubs his temple and he can feel it in the lock of his jaw, that he's got his back against the wall again; caught between a rock and a hard place. It was never supposed to be this hard, a simple concept that he is left unable to grasp. Every so often it strikes a blow across his expression, wavering belligerence gives way to common sense and his eyes travel up. A single glance thats as unnecessary as the glare that is returned.

Each time its the same, and Tony starts to forget when he ever remembered to look away after. Meeting that cold heard expression with calculation. Binary fingers lock together, knuckles fraying white and weak boned. Its completely different each time, each separate occasion culminating in its own pointless exchange of words. Its not even really friendship anymore.

_Because nothing has been the same since New York._

"Whats wrong?"

Tony is alone. That hasn't changed. But now he finds no confidence in the company of strangers. In the company of women who seem only to want another reason to turn his cheek, make him see sideward; far enough away to make him think they've drawn a short straw. They know what they're getting into, or at least they did. Every so often he feels her lipstick stain against his collar firmly pressed collar and again, its a distinct lack. He doesn't bother anymore. It shouldn't be this hard, he shouldn't have to push himself to grin but he does. He does.

"Nothing." He lies. He does this every so often, its easier then telling the truth.

Steve shakes his head. Sometimes he forgets to glare, sometimes he's caught between wanting to reach across the table. Close the expanse of endless space between them that chose to exist and seize a hand, any limb. Try and find a connection. A conscience and a reason to continue on the menial strain of conversation. But each time he's met with that dead start. Ignorance is easily passed by as arrogance in the case of Tony Stark. The point would be made redundant as soon as he gesture is offered though. Tony is a notch above him, on a completely different plane and it drives Steve crazy. Its almost as though the genius is looking at some point through him. He's almost given up.

"C'mon, I can see that something is bothering you." He persists, because thats what friends do.

Steve, well Steve is alone too now. Everything is left in an unmarked grave for him, caving in to the now. And Steve doesn't very much like the now, its full of incomprehensible people and an empty hole. A distinct lack of everything he left behind. It was never a choice, never an option to double back. Because if Steve looks over his shoulder he's afraid he'll never turn around. Its a drowning sensation, but he can't swim up, can't break the surface.

Thats what it is, thats what Stops him reaching over. Stops him from grazing a finger over a fragile broad knuckle. Its time thats between them. Tony has too much, And Steve is out of it.

"Never mind-" He says, Steve knows now that 'Never mind' means 'It hurts too much'. After talking every day for a year to someone you start to notice the ticks. The clicks and the shifts in their body, the ones that mean yes, the ones that mean no. That subtle 'I'm listening's and the eventual tune out. The way their leg shakes uncomfortably after sitting to long, restless. The way they breath slower when discussing work. How they hold a mug in both hands. Which way the pick it up and how its placed down. The way their fingers run down the line of their side of the table every singe time they sit.

After watching, he knows he's right. Tony can't talk about it, and so as always the blonde will smile. It's a natural golden boy turn up of the lips that is easily brought to the forefront. He doesn't know what he's expecting, Tony only ever pushes it aside. Only ever ignores it like its nothing. Like he's nothing. Why should he not? He's so much and Steve is so little. Tony is years and years of conditioning and mathematics, algorithms and sums. Steve is just the serum, and without it, all he'd be is an early grave.

"Will you be picking up the tab or will I?" He offerers, Tony raises a hand. And thats his voluntary gesture. Steve nods, thats the routine. He's learn't not to argue with it anymore after countless attempts to do just that. This is their routine. Trying to deny it all.


End file.
